Poetry & Prose by Carol J Forrester

All posts filed under: Safe Haven

Tone works for Thomas and no one else. As part of the resistance she is trying to piece back together what is left of her home and find the opportunity to tear Harrington apart what he has done to the country.

“So the place has really gone to crap.” McGregor said, arms folded across his chest as he leant against the wall. We were still stood on the platform, him on one side and myself at the furthest point away from him that I could find. I glanced up at the ladder to see if Thomas was visible yet. “Yer, I suppose so.” I said. “Don’t really know much different though. Been this way for a while. When it started some people put it down to a nationwide funk that we’d all snap out of eventually.” “You don’t say?” McGregor’s eyes narrow as he looks at me. “So what happened?” “Harrington.” I told him. “And Headquarters?” McGregor asked. “Those who could got out. Those who stayed were beheaded.” “You’re joking right?” he said, chuckling slightly. Shaking my head I reached for the railings behind me and curled my fingers around them. “Harrington showed it on the news, had the top five men from this sector of Headquarters executed for treason. He’s got some sort of …

“You used to live here?” I’m not sure what I expected when Thomas asked me if I was free for patrol but delving into the Rot was certainly not on the list of considerations. Creeping down from the north-east of the town the Rot was residential once upon the time, converted when the war started to act as a military base and research centre. Most of the buildings were empty shells, the real infrastructure stretched out below in case of bombings, though in the end they hadn’t dug in deep enough. “I must have been about six when the war started.” he tells me, aiming a torch down the torn out hole in the flooring. “I don’t think anyone expected it to reach us here, thought Europe would keep it contained.” “We were Europe.” I say, trying to focus on the corridor leading away from us instead of his boots balancing on the edge of the floorboards. I tuck a stray strand of blonde behind my ear and glance back. He keeps one hand splayed …

“Not quite roses I’m afraid but it will have to do.” I looked up to see Thomas leading two of the guards into the Warren, Harrington’s chancellor slung between them. “You shouldn’t have.” I told him, falling into step as they walked down to the pit. “It isn’t Valentine’s Day.” (Image Credits: Ideflex Across the Bored) Previous Post Next Post

Jamerson called it the catwalk. A strip of metal three foot across that ran from Saint Mary’s Tower to the Maltings, weaving in and out of ruined buildings. Thomas was hunkered down about halfway along, eyeing something that I couldn’t see yet through the rifle sights. He pulled the trigger once, a pop then shattering glass, someone, something howling beneath us. He swore, shifting the rifle slightly to his left as if hoping to take aim again. “They’ll of scattered.” I told him, drawing level with his position. “Hit anything?” “Not enough.” he scowled, shouldering the rifle as he stood. Next Post